


Mornings

by Ramasi



Series: Fire-Breathing [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-29
Updated: 2010-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramasi/pseuds/Ramasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is woken up by Arthur throwing him out of bed. Business as usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Mention of Gwen/Arthur as well. Season 2/3 based.

He's woken up by someone throwing him out of bed.

One moment there's the vague, hazy feeling of late morning sleep, and the next moment his back collides with the floor, hard, and it's like stone being slammed onto him.

 _Someone_ being Arthur, of course, and the fact is so evident to him that through the drowsiness and the shook, his first thought is a non-verbal rendition of _dammit, Arthur!_

He blinks up at said prince, who – if there was any doubt whether this rude awakening was on purpose – stares down at him from the bed, smiling faintly, and says:

"Stand up."

Merlin glares, and slowly moves into a sitting position, knees drawn up to his body.

"You need to get my breakfast," Arthur adds cheerfully.

Merlin rubs his back clumsily.

"Stop doing that," he snaps.

Arthur heaves a sigh. He looks very awake, lying on his side, pushed up by an elbow, stark naked, though his lower half is hidden by the covers.

"What did we say about you telling me what to do?" he asks, in a friendly tone.

"You can't sleep with someone and throw them out of bed in the morning," Merlin insists, looking down.

On most days, he lets these things slide off him, ignores them, accepts them good-humouredly even, waiting for the day when Arthur will know him for who he truly is and accept him as such, bidding his time until then – but sometimes it's hard going through daily life clinging to that distant hope.

"Merlin," Arthur drawls, warningly, and flicks a finger over his ear.

Merlin shakes him off and glances back up.

"Is this how you'd do it with Gwen too, then?" he bites out.

Arthur half-opens his mouth at that, then freezes in mid-movement; a change goes over his face, oddly, a simultaneous hardening and softening, a kind of resolute gentleness; Merlin watches this and remembers that he loves him, despite everything.

"You're still my manservant," Arthur says after a moment of silence, sounding a bit lost, and with the tone in which it's said, Merlin could almost believe it's an apology.

He stands up with a sigh.

"I'll get breakfast then," he says, making his way towards the door.

"We'll share!" Arthur throws at him from the bed, and like he isn't quite sure if that's an order or an offer or what; Merlin doesn't have the patience to figure it out right now.

"Yeah, fine," he answers, without much enthusiasm.

He leaves Arthur to that.

When he comes back Arthur is standing by the window, sword in hand, the blade white from sunlight. He is still completely naked, which makes Merlin pause for a moment. He sees Arthur naked all the time, of course, but has a _thing_ for it occurring unnecessarily in mundane situations. And then the sword. Arthur going through daily training naked, now there's a thought.

"Ah, Merlin."

"Are you putting your fingers on that sword?" Merlin asks, but without bite; he met Gwen on the way down, and it's put him in a good mood, and Arthur's current state is helping too. "I polished that yesterday."

"I was not putting my –" Arthur cuts himself off. "It's _my_ sword!"

"Well don't," Merlin says.

Arthur narrows his eyes at him, and Merlin thinks that maybe, if he were holding something less deadly he might be throwing it now. And then – well, Merlin should have seen that coming, or maybe he was pushing for it, masochistically – he very deliberately lays a finger on the blade, near the point, and gives him a look.

Merlin closes his eyes, good mood fleeing, and it's stupid to get upset, he started this one... He puts the tray down with a _clang_ ; Arthur saunters over happily, apparently appeased, sits, laying the sword down by his plate.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" he asks; Merlin just looks at him, and Arthur lets the hand he's raised to take a piece of bread sink again. "Don't tell me you're still upset about earlier," he says, irritated, as if talking about something that lies years ago.

"I'm not sure I'm going to sleep here anymore if that's how I'm woken up," Merlin snaps, because the occasion is just too good to pass up; and he's not sure, at that moment, if it's an empty threat or not.

"Fine!" Arthur says, and Merlin's hearth skips a beat. "I promise I won't throw you out of bed tomorrow. Now will you sit down!"

Merlin does, slowly slides into a chair. Every time he thinks he's figured out how far is too far – but maybe there is no too far. Every self-defence murder, every time he saves Uther's life and condemns fellow magic-users to death, they draw him deeper into this, this destiny he has, if the dragon is to be trusted. He can try to keep his distance from Arthur, help him from afar; but he's not sure that would work either, and in truth, the only thing that makes him feel better are the secret knowledge of his power and the small revenges it allows him, and this might count against him one day.

Arthur smiles at him genially, like having gotten him to share his breakfast has fulfilled his dearest wish, and that's the kind of thing that doesn't make this easier, exactly, though, more pleasant, maybe; he knows it's not that Arthur doesn't _care_ , at any rate. He makes himself smile back and moves to snatch away a piece of bread from under Arthur's hand.


End file.
